


Please Don't Tarry

by reserve



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: #Space Phone Problems, But He's Also A Dick, Family Feels, General Hux Has No Chill, Kylo Ren: Maybe Okay Guy, M/M, My Crush on Phasma is So Real, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was literally nothing good that could come of being called to Kylo Ren’s rooms in the relative middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Don't Tarry

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a pretty emotional week, but apparently my Hux/Kylo Ren thing is super real. So there's that! Apologies in advance for the lack of complete filth. Don't change that dial, kids! 
> 
> Many thanks to [chickadddddd](http://chickadddddd.tumblr.com) and [fluorescentgrey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fluorescentgrey) for taking a look at this for me.

In the old days, before the Empire fell, arranged marriage had been the most _en vogue_ path for promising young Imperial officers who also happened to be eligible bachelors.

Hux’s own mother was a war bride, chosen from a good Nabooian family with a long history of supporting House Palpatine well before Palpatine was emperor. Her name was Layla, and when she married Commandant Brendol Hux she was all of seventeen. Hux Sr. had been thirty-four, a survivor of the first Death Star, and a decorated war veteran by that time. He was a fine match, a good man though a stern one, and he was kind to her. Hux the younger wasn’t born until Layla was twenty-three, and he was their first.

Layla had light green eyes like his own, the same coppery hair, and milky, freckled skin. She had peasant looks for a highborn girl, and somehow Hux Sr. always managed to seem insulted by them even though he cherished her. She died giving birth to Hux’s little brother, and Hux had pristine memories of his father taking leave from the Academy to drink himself into a stupor over the loss of them both for three endless weeks.

A nanny droid was Hux’s only company during that time. And the pair of maintenance droids that came to disassemble the crib placed at his bedside. No one explained where his mother had gone. But Hux knew. He tried to hate his father for being unable to save her, but there was no reward in that. No way to grow. To Hux’s six year old heart, the most viable option seemed to be figuring out where his father had failed and vowing not to repeat those mistakes. The first mistake, he felt, was choosing to marry at all.

In some ways, he was prophetic in that sense.

When Hux came of age, there wasn’t exactly a scramble to match up the children of fallen Imperial officers. Arranged marriage had largely gone out of favor with the rise of The New Republic which had newfangled ideas about marriage anyway. Two of its leaders weren’t even married—and their son was a _bastard_. At least that’s what Hux heard whispered among his fellow cadets. Hux’s mother might have been dead, and his father might have been slipping steadily down a drunkard’s hill, but at least he knew who he belonged to, exactly what his place was, exactly what was expected of him, and exactly the ways in which he could not fail.

And so:

He made himself useful.

He passed his officer’s exams in the 98th percentile.

He rose quickly through the First Order's ranks.

He was invited to high council meetings as an observer.

He ingratiated himself into their Supreme Leader’s inner circle.

Armitage Hux surpassed the elder Hux in accolades and acclaim, and by the time he was twenty-eight, he was promoted to general. He was given command of the Finalizer. He measured out his days in meetings and administrative work.

He did not marry.

Sometimes when sleep escaped him, he walked the bridge and observed the stars as the skeleton crew toiled quietly behind him. He wondered if his mother could see him somehow, if she knew how far he had come. If she was even the slightest bit proud. He had heard, from the annoying mystical element aboard his ship, that his wild religion allowed for ghosts. Hux was not certain how much weight the words of a insane person warranted. And Kylo Ren was certainly insane. 

“It’s not madness if it’s true,” Ren told him. They were standing side by side on the bridge at midday, as they so often were. His voice through his helmet was intimidating. Hux knew his real voice had a softer bent.

“Show me a ghost, Lord Ren, and I’ll reconsider my assessment.”

Hux could feel Ren nearing his boiling point at the blithe response. He didn’t mean to tempt Ren into tantrums, but it was so easy and so troublingly satisfying that he’d accounted for Ren-based collateral damage in their most recent quarterly budget. And probably would in the next as well. Hux licked his lips. He could almost smell sulfur in the air, the scent Ren seemed to give off just before he crushed something metal with his deranged mind.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Ren said. His clenched teeth were audible.

“Well how does it work then, if not like that?”

Ren exhaled loudly, and Hux swallowed an inappropriate smile.

“Force ghosts _appear_ to you. You cannot call them. They… choose you. It’s an honor.”

“And you’ve had this _honor_ visited upon you?”

Hux couldn’t help himself. Ren rarely talked about the Force—the magical power he was supposedly learning to master. And although Hux understood that Kylo Ren was a knight of some kind, and that Lord Snoke was apparently training him, he often struggled to see Ren as anything other than a nuisance with a penchant for brooding and swirling cloaks. Kylo Ren was better at making an entrance than he was at almost everything else, Hux had to grant him that.

The stupid mask was a nice touch, too.

And Ren was still speaking. Hux demurely cleared his throat and said, “I'm sorry, could you repeat that?”

Ren fell suddenly silentand Hux got the sense that he was rolling his eyes behind his mask. Then he left bridge in a cloud of billowing, largely useless fabric, abandoning Hux to the solace of his command post. If Hux regretted not listening to potentially useful ammunition for their next encounter, his posture certainly didn’t show it. He had learned long ago not to let his carriage portray his emotions. Others, quite obviously, hadn’t.

The rest of his day passed smoothly.

They had several dozen Bothan spies spread out across Resistance-friendly planets and Hux busied himself with their varied reports from the field. One such report relayed the story of a Twi’lek girl who had fought bravely in the face of New Republic interrogators. They had sought intel on First Order officers who had frequented her drinking establishment while on leave, but she, a model of faithfulness, had held firm. Now she was apparently in grave condition. Hux drafted a memo requesting that medical assistance be sent to her homeworld posthaste. “And reward her for her service,” he added as an afterthought. A monetary recompense would do nicely.

News of such stalwart loyalty was so heartening that he took his supper in the officer’s mess with Phasma and First Lieutenant Rhyda as was his custom on better nights.

Phasma had a group of new recruits; not the usual untrained children she was accustomed to dealing with, but rather radicalized older youth who had answered the call after being swayed by the First Order’s frankly exceptional propaganda campaign. Some might argue that the old Empire had held the Galaxy in an ugly yoke, but many could be persuaded otherwise, nudged to remember the safety of trade routes, the steady value of Imperial currency, and the impressive array of social betterment programs put into place by Imperial officials across worlds, including education reform. Reform that came with a hefty dose of conditioning, all in service of the greater good.

“Are they unwieldy?” asked Rhyda around a mouthful of Bantha steak.

Hux leaned back from the table and crossed his legs. In his hand he had a glass of wine from the foothills of Mount Tantiss. Its terroir was unmatched. He swirled the ruby liquid around the sides of the glass and regarded Phasma.

“Tell us, Captain, are they?” He expected her to rise to the bait and defend her troops.

“Unwieldy is not the word I would choose, Rhyda. They are...fanatical, and if you’ll permit me to speak freely General, I think there is a hint of danger there.”

“How could fanaticism possibly be _bad_? Isn’t loyalty the main means to our end?” Hux sipped his wine.

“Certainly, sir, but our own methods of indoctrination create the mindset necessary to fulfill the oath we each take to the Order. These children come with ideas of their own. Ideas about what it _means_ to be here.”

Rhyda nodded thoughtfully.

“What happens,” Phasma continued, “when they discover that the fantasy does not meet the expectation?”

Hux shrugged, unbothered. “Reeducation and personality management, surely.”

“Sir—”

“Blaster and a heartbeat, Phasma,” he chided, challenging both her and Rhyda to disagree. “Willing bodies are better than no bodies at all.” 

That made the Lieutenant snort, no doubt settling on a less wholesome interpretation of his statement.

“Yes sir,” Phasma said, deflating slightly. “I’m sure they will prove themselves worthy.”

She pushed one large hand through her short blonde hair, and schooled her features into something utterly impassive. Hux had a great deal of respect for her. She was firm and fair, like his fondly remembered Academy instructors. In another life, she might have retired to that existence, but they were at war and would be for only God knew how long.

“So,” Rhyda said, gamely changing the subject, “how go the repairs on Level 1013?”

“My budget review at the start of this quarter has proven quite useful,” Hux said.

Phasma smirked. “Better not tell Ren, I’m sure he’d be insufferably smug for days if he knew his hissy fits had been accounted for so officially.”

“Smug? Who can tell behind that mask?” Rhyda scoffed.

“You can tell,” said Phasma and Hux at the same time. Phasma covered her mouth before she could let loose one of those unseemly guffaws of her’s.

“You can tell,” Hux repeated darkly. He pulled his PDD from his pocket to check the time. It was nearing 2100.

“Oh!” Rhyda exclaimed. “You have the newest model. Do you like it?”

Hux considered the device in his hand, turning over its smallish gold chassis. He shrugged. “It’s almost the same size as my datapad. I can’t tell if it looks like I’m speaking into an idiotically massive screen when I get a comm.”

“Let’s see,” Phasma said.

Why not, thought Hux, and held the PDD up to his face to pantomime a comm call. He felt distinctly foolish, but he was always a little more given to whimsy on his better days, and certainly before the two days he spent off duty each week.

Both Rhyda and Phasma shook their heads at him, their mouths turning down into identical frowns.

“Utterly fine,” Rhyda said first. “I should like one myself.”

“Perhaps on your next leave,” Hux said, standing. Phasma and Rhyda followed suit.

“Thank you, sir. Good evening.” Rhyda inclined his head respectfully.

Phasma tipped him a jaunty two-fingered salute. Very non-regulation, but he was willing to let her get away with it.

“Cheers, General,” she said.

Hux gave a her a look, and turned to go.

The officer’s mess was quite close to his personal quarters, one of the benefits of his rank. As was proximity to all of the star destroyer’s leisure areas, as though he was expected to have time for trivialities. He did enjoy the large transparisteel panels that lined the walkway from the mess to his rooms. It was hard not to be smitten by the vast beauty of the stars. He stopped to take in the view, feeling just the slightest bit nostalgic. His mother had never been on a star destroyer. She had traveled once or twice with his father at the very end of Hux Sr.’s active duty, but those had been short trips on Imperial transports. It saddened him, to know that she had been there at the height of the Empire’s power, but had never been able to witness its true might. He couldn’t help but feel that she had missed out, living on the outer rim planet they called home, while Palpatine held rallies that must have rivaled the ones they organized now.

Hux put his hands on the railing and sighed up at the stars.

The Finalizer was their flagship. Massive in size, impressive in firepower, and filled to the brim with officers of the highest quality and their zealous troops. It felt mildly childish, but he would have liked her to see this. He would have liked her to see his world, and all that he commanded. A very deep, hidden part of him wanted nothing more than to make her know his worth. Hux checked the time again. It was now just past 2100 and although he had no reason to wake early the following day, habit made him want to bunk down soon. An overtired commander was a recipe for disaster, and he was never truly off duty.

He was placing his PDD back into his trouser pocket when it vibrated lightly in his palm. A message. Hux’s brow furrowed.

 **2107: REN >>** _My quarters, 2230. Something to show you._

Hux’s brow puckered further.

There was literally nothing good that could come of being called to Kylo Ren’s rooms in the relative middle of the night. The last time this had happened, Ren had asked Hux to fire a blaster at him repeatedly as he stayed each bolt with the power of the “Dark Side.” Hux believed, he truly did, but practical thinking ruled his nature, and the Dark Side sounded unbelievably trite to him in theory if not in reality. Even when its power was flowing through Ren, allowing him to cheat injury, Hux still couldn’t shake the scare quotes.

 _I’m not at your beck and call,_ he sent back.

 **2109: REN >>** _That’s nice. See you at 2230._

Hux stared at the message screen for a long moment before he chose not to reply. But he would go, that was the unfortunate truth. Refraining from prodding at Ren was just as hard as denying him. Hux was lamentably curious, it was one of his major faults.

And now he had an hour to kill. What a pity to have given up his seat in the mess. He supposed he could make do in the officer’s lounge, partake in another glass of wine, and shore himself for whatever unpleasantness was bound to be coming his way. And, he quite liked an after dinner drink, another one of his very limited faults. He considered messaging Phasma to ask her to join him, but their off duty days never matched up and she had probably turned in.

However, many of his fellow officers _did_ find themselves off for the following two days and the lounge was not a serene and empty space that evening. The smell of cigarette smoke was heavy in the air despite the air purifiers hard at work, and plates of small, fried snacks were being rapidly procured from hospitality droids stationed around the room. It made for an altogether pleasing and overwhelming scent profile. Hux sniffed delicately at the air and longed for a cigarette (one more fault). He was certainly not going to bum one, though, and after securing his third glass of wine for the night _—_ this one a lesser Endorian vintage _—_ he took a seat on the low couches near the windows overlooking the bridge. “Just in case you wish to watch your command go up in flames while you relax,” was the frequent joke.

Hux took a long swallow of wine and tried to force an amiable expression onto his face. He felt a certain nervous energy, familiar because it always accompanied the time before a scheduled solo meeting with his resident bucket wearing counterpart. Ren didn’t make him nervous, _per se_ , but he managed to get Hux’s blood running high, and make him feel dangerously unlike himself: his exceptional control always on the verge of slipping just out of his grasp. It was likely that he would snap one day and throttle Kylo Ren _—_ or _worse _—__ and that would probably result in the Force-choking to end all Force-chokings. He almost wanted to get it over with already. But. Those were perhaps his baser emotions at work, and not befitting of someone with his rank and status.

Again, Ren had a way of making him forget himself.

A glance at his glass found it nearly empty, and that would not do. Hux ordered another and when he made his way back to his perch, Major Banks was sitting near his still warm spot. She smiled at him when he sat.

“Major,” he said, deigning to the unspoken convention that superior officers should speak first.

“I thought you might like a cigarette, General.”

Hux offered her a toothless half-smile in return. “Very gracious of you, Major.”

Banks had spent the day off duty, and so her long hair had been released from its neat bun and fell in loose waves around her face. She was very pretty: green eyes and freckled olive skin, a lovely oval face, and supple curves. He didn’t know her personal background, but they had shared a cigarette or two in their time aboard the Finalizer. She had an impeccable record, he expected no less. In another life, had he different needs or taste, perhaps he would have liked her very much.

“How does the evening find you?” She asked. Hux could tell she was already slightly intoxicated; there was an ease about her that only infiltrated First Order personnel with the assistance of alcohol.

“Fine, fine,” he said. He felt there was a slightly manic edge to his voice which the wine had yet to quell.

“Plans for your OD?” She passed him her lighter.

Hux lit the cigarette, and inhaled. It was fine Kessel tobacco; he was glad.

“Not as such,” he said after releasing the smoke in one long stream. The calming effects of tobacco additives buzzed into his blood, and he felt his head loosen. Minor, blessed relief from Kylo Ren induced stress.

“There’s a new holofeature. Something exciting. It was sold out last cycle, but everyone’s been.”

“Ah,” Hux said, distracted.

“General?” Banks sounded concerned.

Hux turned to face her and clenched his jaw for a moment. “My apologies, Banks. You’ll have to excuse me.”

He stood, nearly spilling his wine, and retreated to the lav unit with his cigarette and his glass. She watched him go, and he was loathe to see the look she must have been directing at his fleeing back. Terrible, kriffing terrible. _Disgraceful_. The lav mirror showed high spots of color on his pale cheeks and his hair had somehow managed to come undone. He finished his cigarette with a perfunctory series of drags, and ashed into the basin feeling grateful that there was only one stall, and a single sliding door to lock.

The wine was dispatched in much the same fashion: a very long gulp, tannic and rich at the back of his throat. He checked his PDD.

 **2234: REN >>** _Tardiness is unlike you._

Hux swore aloud. _I’m coming, you beast,_ he sent back, utterly careless in his distress.

Ren’s following message was just an image of a grinning skull.

Hux smoothed his hair and his uniform front. He adjusted his belt and opened his mouth to inspect his tongue and teeth: only slightly purpled from wine. Ren would know he’d been drinking, but then, Ren could easily uncover that knowledge without any physical evidence.

Blast the blasted Force, Hux thought, and left his glass in the lav like a common NCO.

2240 found him outside Ren’s quarters and out of breath from walking at a full clip halfway round the ship, which even on the same deck was not a meagre distance. He was raising his hand to press the intercom when the door slid open. Hux silently asked his mother to look out for him, and with a scowl pasted in place, he passed the threshold.

The overheads were turned down low, probably no more 15%, and in the past that hadn’t been a good sign either. That meant Ren was either brooding, _or_ he was looking for something else from Hux. Something Hux hated to admit he wanted to give, and yet was oddly hopeful Kylo Ren might ask for. The wine was obviously responsible for the latter.

“Ren,” he called, wary of going much farther than the receiving room. His voice was steady.

“Third door on the left,” came the muffled reply.

Hux had been in Ren’s quarters a handful of times. Notably when Ren was needed and unreachable, and thus a heaving, weeping mess when Hux came upon him, or alternately he was blacked out with rage and a danger to both himself and others. And then. Then there was the time (or two), he’d been in Ren’s rooms very much of his own accord. He tried not to think about those times all that often.

There were no awful sounds coming from the third door on the left, so Hux figured it was safe. He took a deep breath and slid the door open to reveal a meditation room.

Ren sat cross-legged on a woven mat in the dark. Flickering lanterns cast his long face in soft light. He looked relaxed, calm, and he was wearing relaxed clothing: loose training pants and a thin, sleeveless top. His helmet was on the ground beside him, and his hair was loose and wild.

Hux swallowed hard.

“Come,” Ren said, there was a hint of influence there.

“You had something to show me?” Hux said, resisting the pull to sit at Ren’s side.

“You've been drinking.”

“What of it?”

Ren gave him the side-eye and tugged. His eyebrows lifted up.

“I can walk on my own, thank you,” Hux said waspishly. He lowered himself onto the mat a fair distance from Ren, mostly to displease him.

Ren hummed and closed his eyes.

 _I’ve had a visitation,_ he said, directly into Hux’s mind, jarring as a reactor breach alarm.

Hux gasped at the sensation in spite of himself. “Go on,” he said.

_Ask nicely._

_I tire so quickly of your games,_ Hux thought back at him, hard. As much of a concession as he was willing to give.

Ren made an amused little sound, and murmured aloud, “I’ve never tried to share this with someone before, so bear with me.” Then he took Hux’s hand in his long ghastly fingers and clamped down.

Hux resisted the urge to pull away.

 _Relax. You’re so_ tense _, General. Can’t have that._ Ren stroked at his mind, carving out a horrifying space of calm where there hadn’t been one before. Hux wondered how much of his autonomy was being actively stripped away. He was no stranger to Ren’s particular brand of coercion: alarming and alluring in equal parts; some filthy part of Hux’s disciplined conscious longed for it when he hadn’t felt Ren in his head for too long.

“Get on with it,” he said, far too loud.

Ren shushed him, and then the vision began, slowly crystallizing before him, like a holofeature in his mind’s eye, a memory not his own and a powerful one at that. It had a searing effect. His face felt hot from unseen energy. Ren was breathing low and deep, and Hux realized he was digging his nails into his palm and Ren’s hand.

“What...is this…?” he asked through clenched teeth.

_A ghost for you._

And it was. It bloody well was. In this very room, materializing before him, there was a blueish figure, wispy and half-made. An old man, sickly looking, rather terrifying.

He felt Ren lash him lightly, a mental wrist slap. The memory wavered for a moment, but then stabilized. Hux could see the man speaking, presumably to Kylo Ren. He was nodding, he looked like he was in terrible pain. The realization of who, exactly, he was seeing rolled over Hux like an ATAT. 

He gasped. _Is that?_

_My grandfather, before he fell to the Light._

_That cannot be._

_There is no thing, that cannot be,_ Ren said, heavy with meaning over their psychic connection. _A Jedi proverb, but true._

 _I am...I—_ “I am sorry,” Hux said into the quiet. “I am sorry for doubting you.”

“Don't apologize,” Ren whispered. He abruptly dropped Hux’s hand and the vision vanished, dragged out of his mind like gravel on flesh.

Hux swallowed back a whine.

“Breathe it out,” Ren said. “There’s a reason only Force users bear witness to what you’ve just seen.”

It sounded like someone was hyperventilating, on the verge of tears, and Hux had half a mind to call Ren out until he realized it was _him_. He was the one breathing in sharp little gasps, practically choking on air, and the breathy keening sounds were his alone. His day had taken a very sharp turn for the worse. Ren’s big hand moved in soothing circles on his back and Hux wanted to run from the room screaming, he wanted to lean into the touch, he wanted to….

“ _Breathe_ , Hux. Before you pass out.”

Hux tried. He concentrated on Ren’s touch. He willed away his embarrassment. There was a light touch at the edges of his mind, and he felt calmed almost against his will. Slowly, slowly, his chest ceased its heaving.

“He likes you,” Ren was saying. “My grandfather. He says you remind him of an old friend, the man who commanded the first Death Star. ‘As practical as your Hux,’ he said. It made me smile. Nothing makes me smile.”

“He, what?” Hux forced out. “He said I remind him of Grand Moff Tarkin? That old bird face?”

“Wilhuff Tarkin was a  _martyr_ ,” Ren snapped. “Don’t insult his name.”

Hux couldn’t, because he was taken with a fresh round of wheezing, as though Ren’s anger had forced his lungs back into distress. Maybe it had.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ren said, always that curious combination of regret and privilege. “Here.” He poured Hux a tumbler of water from the pitcher near his side and pressed it into Hux’s shaking hand like someone who cared.

When Hux brought it to his lips he drank gratefully. He was, perhaps, a little bit parched. The wine and psychic distress certainly hadn’t helped.

Ren was watching him. His dark eyes tracked his movements as he put the tumbler down. He had a wariness to him, like he was worried about receiving a dressing down from _Hux_. The balance between them was forever shifting; it never ceased to amaze Hux how unstable their foundations were.

“You told Darth Vader about me?” he said, once he’d unstuck his jaw.

“It’s not like that.”

“But you’ve talked about me? To Darth Vader? To _the_ Darth Vader?”

Ren shook his head. “He’s a part of everything. That's how, that's how this _works_. He sees everything around us. Everywhere. It's not just you.”

“But he mentioned me,” Hux pressed.

“Curses, Hux, _yes_. He mentioned you.”

Ren looked exasperated, but not angry. And Hux could feel a smug expression stealing across his face.

“Why, Lord Ren,” he said. “I didn't know he cared.”

“Out,” Ren said. “Get out.” He grabbed Hux by the arm and pulled him bodily to his feet. “We’re done here.”

Hux felt himself waver, his perfect vision gone funny. His knees had that jelly feeling you get the first time you travel out of atmo. For a fumbling second he reached out blindly to steady himself, his fingers clutching at nothing until they caught fabric and held fast. Ren’s arms came up around his waist and when the dizziness passed, Hux opened his treacherous eyes to find Kylo Ren staring at him down his great crooked nose. His normally stormy expression was rewritten with concern. Hux had swooned. His feet were a crumpled mess, all twisted up, and he suspected he was upright solely because Ren was keeping him there. He was not proud.

“Can you stand?” Ren whispered thickly. His hands were vice-like on Hux’s waist.

“Let me go, you oaf,” Hux said, but made no move to free himself.

Ren released his grip on one side only to take Hux’s hand in his and trap it between their very close bodies.

“I don't think so.”

Hux took a shaky breath. “Then do _something_ ,” he said, already tilting up his face.

It was only when Kylo Ren kissed him that he realized he was trembling. He wove his fingers into Ren’s hair and clung to him lest he be swept away by another bout of vertigo or the heady need he felt growing in his wine-washed stomach. Ren began to walk him slowly backwards, presumably to bed, and as he did so, his dexterous tongue lapped gently at Hux’s lips, slipped into his mouth, and proceeded to kiss him nearly breathless. Three times tonight Ren had left him gasping, and not once by Force-choking. More’s the pity, Hux thought giddily, already mentally preparing himself for the impassioned fucking coming his way.

Ren’s hand caressed his ass and he moaned directly into Ren’s mouth without a hint of shame. Then a door hissed open and Hux found himself deposited in the brightly lit corridor just outside Ren’s quarters. He blinked. He swiped his hand over his mouth. He felt betrayed.

“Good night, General,” Ren said. And closed the door.

Hux had to bite down on his tongue to keep from yelling. He let himself lean against the wall for a minute. Each passing thought was a jumble of personal admonishment and rising anger at Kylo Ren, the half-wit second-rate sorcerer, who had the _gumption_ to toss _him_ out on his very high ranking ass. The nerve.

His PDD buzzed in his pocket and Hux clawed it out.

 **0004: REN >> **_Stop thinking so loudly. Go to sleep_.

Every single part of him, down to a molecular level, wanted to throw his pfassking PDD down the hallway. Hux controlled himself.

 _Fuck you_ , he sent in response, and stomped shakily back to his own quarters.

Being off duty the following two days did have its reward besides the obvious, Hux conceded, as he sullenly prepared for bed. At least he would be able to avoid any chance encounters with Ren if he didn’t have to appear on the bridge until 0800 at the start of the next cycle.

He tossed off his rumpled uniform without the care he normally took, mentally apologizing the the hospitality droid who would have to salvage it in the morning. A cursory glance in the mirror revealed him to be as disheveled and sullied as he felt. At least the mirror didn’t show the persistent erection he’d been sporting since Ren so rudely turned him away. He would ignore it. Giving in meant Ren had won, and he couldn’t have that.

“Darth Vader,” Hux grumbled, shaking his head as he peeled back the not-so-regulation comforter on his not-so-regulation bed. “How _odd_.”

Then he turned the overheads all the way off and lay there in the dark with nothing but the whir of the ship’s air system and the ticking of his bedside chronometer for distraction. His erection had yet to be dissuaded. Hux rolled over onto his stomach in a last ditch attempt to will it away, but soon the lingering alcohol in his system convinced him that self-denial out of spite wasn’t a terribly pragmatic choice, and Hux valued pragmatism above all. Turning onto his back, he closed his eyes and slipped a hand into his sleep pants. Unfortunately, his thoughts turned to Ren.

The following day passed blessedly without incident. He neither swooned nor found himself summarily rejected, and even managed a game of holochess with Phasma during her lunch.

Hux was counting it a day well spent until his PDD buzzed and he nearly jumped ten feet in the air and upended his brandy in his lap. Thankfully neither came to pass.

 **2214: REN >> ** _2300._

Hux sneered down at his phone as though Ren could see him. The messaging seemed such a banal habit when he knew very well that Ren could simply speak to him directly in his head. Or so he assumed.

 _No,_ he responded.

 **2217: REN >> ** _I have something for you._

_I don’t care._

**2218: REN >> ** _You care so much. That’s your burden._

 _Messaging is no place for ancient philosophy,_ Hux returned. His mouth felt like it was frozen in a permanent frown, and it usually was where Kylo Ren was concerned. Until it wasn’t. And there. That was the problem.

There was nothing to be done for it. He was helpless when it came to Ren’s idiotic, mysterious hold over him. Far more potent than any sway the Supreme Leader had over his emotions, though he would never admit it. Not even under the duress of torture. He was happy to carry this one secret to a glorious death. Still, he smoothed fresh pomade through his hair and took a long considering look at himself in his OD uniform. The First Order didn’t allow for true street clothes as they had at the Academy, but he didn’t mind. It was simpler, knowing exactly what to wear and when to wear it.

Hux was outside Ren’s door early this time, and already angry with himself for coming back a scant standard day later. Unlike the previous night, he had to use the intercom, and when the door opened Ren was standing there in his robes and no helmet. A tea service was spread out on the small table in the receiving room, and Ren gestured gallantly for him to come inside. Like a prince, which he was.

Hux pursed his lips.

“Is this your way of apologizing?” He asked, once he was seated and Ren had passed him a stone cup of sweet, herbaceous smelling tea.

“No,” Ren said.

“You’re _insufferable_ ,” Hux spat. “Truly the worst thing aboard this ship. I can’t fathom why you even bother, since you have the social graces of—.”

“This is,” Ren intoned, handing him a piece of holopaper.

Hux felt his mouth drop open. This time he did spill his drink, but Ren caught it, one outstretched hand aimed at the mess, holding the tea suspended in midair. He took Hux’s cup from his frozen hands and held it below the the stream of golden liquid before slowly releasing it back into the vessel. Then he placed it casually on the table. Hux blinked. 

“This is my mother,” he said, voice filled with wonderment. “I don’t have a single holo of her.”

“I know.”

“I never told you that. I’ve never told you a thing about her.”

Ren gave him a sad, considering look. It wasn’t pity, pity would have felt like a death sentence, but it was….sympathy.

“You didn’t have to,” Ren said softly. “I can feel your grief, I can feel you long for her, for a sign that she cares for you. And…” he stopped, and met Hux’s eyes, “I cannot give you those things, I cannot show her to you as I did my grandfather. But I can give you this, little as it is.”

Hux stared down at the holo. It was Coruscant at the turn of the season, and the trees were full of pink blossoms. It was an archive photo, it had to be, and Ren must have pored through hundreds, no _thousands_ , of old Imperial records to find it. He may have had the Force to aid him, but it could not have been an easy task. In the image, his mother was young, her slim shoulders clad in delicate, gauzy fabric, and her hair done up in the braids so popular for that era. She turned and smiled again and again, as was the nature of a holophoto, and each time, his father placed a protective hand at her waist.

Hux remembered to breathe.

“Don’t thank me,” Ren said. “Think of it as recompense.”

“For what?”

“For me.”

“You intolerable man,” Hux said, setting the holo carefully down onto Ren’s neatly set table. He climbed just as carefully into Ren’s lap and clasped his hands behind Ren’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. “Do you intend to send me out into the cold again?” 

“Are you half a tankard in?” Ren’s voice had a teasing quality.

“Have we suddenly discovered our moral compass?”

Instead of supplying an equally snarky reply, Ren captured his mouth in a heated kiss so sure that it melted the memory of the previous night clear from Hux’s brain. If budget adjustments, the occasional public dispute, and violent temper tantrums were the only things actually _wrong_ with his working relationship with Kylo Ren, he was certain that adding one more technicality couldn’t hurt.

And then Ren scooped him into his arms and stood, his mouth sucking at the sensitive spot just below Hux’s ear, teeth nibbling at his skin, and Hux found he barely cared about anything at all. And for once, that was fine.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you can't picture him off the top of your head, [this is Grand Moff Tarkin](http://darksideconfidential.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Tarkin-and-Vader.jpg). He and Darth Vader had a much more genial working relationship than Kylo Ren and General Hux. 
> 
> Pixiepunch brought part of this story to life with [an amazing comic](http://pixiepunch.tumblr.com/post/138462206677/little-two-page-comic-based-off-the-ending-to) that you simply must check out. I am extremely grateful that people have been inspired enough by my writing to create art for it - and I feel so remarkably unworthy. 
> 
> I would be remiss not to link you to [this incredible drawing](http://hicstreme0.tumblr.com/post/138008309208/please-draw-me-drunk-wine-mom-general-hux) of drunk wine mom Hux, by my pal hicstreme0. 
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://reserve.tumblr.com).


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